


Day's End

by PFDiva



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Gen, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose ties up Dave, with surprising results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day's End

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this photoshoot.](http://bondagestuck.tumblr.com/post/40167405142/dave-and-then-one-of-many-dave-shots-we-have-in)

Dave lounges in the chair as though you haven't got him tied up and completely at your mercy.

Well, that might be a bit of an overstatement.

His legs are free, so it would be a simple matter for him to get up, find something sharp (His home is FULL of things that qualify) and free himself.

But he doesn't.

He watches you adjust up his brother's lights, ("He can't use 'em anymore, you might as well.") and move stray smuppets out of the way, silent and patient.

Trusting.

You feel honored, really, because you know for a fact that you are the only person in the world he would allow to do this to him.

The two of you went to your annual "We're still alive" get-together with John and Jade.

There was good food, good conversation, and enduring friends. It was as enjoyable and bittersweet as it always was.

Somehow, during the course of the night, you and Dave ventured into the topic of bondage, specifically with rope, as your usual game of flirtation chicken (Dave's term, not yours) escalated.

You kept expecting him to back off, change topic, and you suspect he kept expecting the same, but neither of you did. By the end of the night, you have committed yourself to tying him up and taking pictures of the results. ("For the irony, Rose. Everything for the irony. Why do you not know this, yet?")

So the pair of you walked the short distance back to his home (Texas is nice this time of year) whiling away the time with idle conversation, reminiscing, and some playful elbowing.

He tells you that the variously-colored ropes (blue, purple, green, orange, red, even a tie-dye one) were his Bro's, but that you are free to use them. You swear to treat them with care and he scoffs at your solicitousness in that mild way that means he's grateful.

He shows you which lights would probably make the best pictures and which camera settings were best for the room and lighting.

You choose the red rope, because it is the color you most associated with Dave, because it matches the ugly new chair he'd bought on his own, with his own earned money, ("How fucking kawaii is this motherfucker? So kawaii.") and because it will stand out most starkly against his dark clothing.

He is patient as you attempt to communicate a design you've only used on your feminine body to his more masculine form, his breathing steady and deep, his eyes patient behind his shades.

You keep waiting for him to say something, anything, but he never does. You aren't sure if you are relieved or disappointed.

After taking a moment to check that everything had enough give, that nothing was digging in, and everything was otherwise ok ("I don't need a fucking safeword when I can just STAND THE FUCK UP and get loose, Rose, jeeze oh fucking petes!") you help him into the chair, and he relaxes, one foot planted in the chair, the other stretched out on the footrest, as if he were about to watch a movie.

You take a few pictures, fuss with apertures and settings and lighting until you are satisfied. You show the pictures to Dave, and he promptly informs you that they suck and you need to do ABC to make them better.

At first, you listen, taking his advice as you continue snapping pictures. When he runs out of things to complain about in your pictures, he starts up a nervous flood of words that makes your teeth grind.

You miss the silence.

You turn on your heel and stride over to his brother's bag of rope. You've already taken out the heavy shears and laid them next to the chair, in case Dave panics, or something untoward happens and he must be freed in a hurry. You hear Dave demanding to know what you're doing, commenting on your ass, your shoes, your hair, your dress.

You tune him out in favor of searching for--aha!

When you show Dave your prize, his mouth works for a minute, as he attempts to find the words to convey whatever thought has caused his eyes to widen like that behind his shades. Normally, his eyes would be a mystery to you, but with the lights in his face, you can see them well.

After a long moment, he offers, "Use a lot."

It's not the explicit permission you should get from him, and there is no discussion of what his signal will be if he is distressed, but you trust that he'll let you know if something is displeasing, and that you know him well enough to read the signal if he sends it.

You cut a few lengths of the black duct tape, affixing them to Dave's mouth, covering the bottom half of his face almost entirely. He works his mouth behind the tape, testing the give, and when he's satisfied, he gives you a little nod.

You take more pictures, a little stunned by the docility he displays, but wishing to do it justice. You aren't sure you're able to, though a few of the pictures come out truly lovely.

When you finish, you untie him, and let him decide how to deal with the tape (He rips it off his face fast and winces when it catches his meager facial hair.)

He puts the lights away and you inspect the pictures together. He picks out his (unironic) favorites, and they also happen to be your favorites.

By now, it's late, and you really have to get home, so the two of you hug, and he walks you to the apartment door. Just before he closes it, he pauses, his mouth opening, but no words coming out. You can wait just a little bit longer to hear what he has to say.

"Can...can we do this again, sometime? Sometime sooner than next year?"

Your mother was a very well-off woman, and the plane ride isn't as expensive if you book it in advance.

"Maybe next month?" you offer. He nods and you smile, "I'll be here."

You don't hear the door close until you are on the stairs, and you buy your ticket to return before you even leave.


End file.
